Long Scions Poems

Long Scions Poems. Below are the most popular long Scions by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scions poems by poem length and keyword.


Towers and Bridges

III

But, of course, I had no dizzying towers                  
To burn...only bridges; and they were torched            
Years ago in the urgency of my direst hours;           
Along with so many mighty battlements sacked, 
Countless golden fields scorched...                            
Afterall -- it was the age of Bronze!              
I should have well known that in the flight          
Of birds, in each cold dawns pale grey light,                       
I would eventually come to see the unalterable 
Fates of Wilusha's last Imperial Scions:-                             
Tottering precariously - on the brink -            
A world in crisis! Then the elopement...               
Did you not once stop to carefully think           
It through? Giddied no doubt by bestowment 
Of that accursed title; just as if it were the 
Same giddying rush                                               
You have experienced from the heady
Potency of  a full bodied, Oaked Chardonnay.        
The coy performance at being required to strip -- 
An inner excitement at your self's shamed 
Nakedness! The obvious insincerity on display
When receiving an invite to dine at the gaudy
Little bistro; your hot skin noticeably flushed               
With the delirium of wine; frequently              
Pressed to partake of yet another glass;           
There was, he casually said, much to be            
Desired in a pleasurable rape. Her audible gasp...                                             
As if, from that roadside window, she was
Suddenly staring out over the idyllic plains 
Of mythical Arcadia;                         
His eloquent assurances artfully calculated 
To lend themselves to a distressful behaviour.
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member White Lyin'


If there is division and indecision in the Church, the Israel of God
It’s our low view of the Law of God? 
Oh, many redefine what the law is
Or they say that Christ has done away with it
Is that what Christ said?
Do we not follow what God has said? Are we dead believers?
Can we come from our graves on our own to be receivers?
Some can say an epistle is straw
For believers the condemnation has gone away, not the law
If someone offered dead men, the elixir of life
And held it up and said come forward dead plight
How do we on our own come forward?
How do we who act froward? 
Only dead men being called by God can perk their ears
Only dead men being summoned can hear
So, we hear with our ears, then we live it out in our hearts
Because our God is working in the inward parts
For someone to say that the law has passed away
Is to not understand the ever presence of The Life, The Truth and The Way
His fulfillment as a present tense
He comes to our defense
To say that some Old Testament Laws only apply to Israel
Is to have a low opinion of God and His vision visceral
There is always secondary application
God uses anthropomorphic demonstration
If God says something that should settle it
So don’t get high and mighty and meddle in it
But pray for the mettle to defend righteously
Giving a ready answer to those who ask hopelessly
The Church which is the Israel of God
The Church in the Wilderness connects us abroad
All who hear we need to come near and reason together
This is a command not a question of whether
Come now sands of the shore, the unlimited star count
Don’t fight and redefine God’s Law, because we will never surmount
So, is it ok to tell little white lies? Is it ok to be white lyin’?
Is it ok to associate perversion and that roaring lion
With those who are metaphysical scions?
No says The Lamb and The Lion, come to worship at Mount Zion
Form: Couplet

Premium Member The Pride of the Bhoys

Known they are as the Lisbon Lions
But  of  the West of Scotland were they scions.
Etched in history is their name
Because of that  1967 game.

Immortality upon them is endowed
As they made their fans so proud.
But as the years do move on
So are we left with fewer sons.

One such by the name of McBride
Recently passed  to the other side.
A centreforward of great repute
He could score with head or either foot.

Such a joy was he to watch
It made you so  proud to be Scotch.
Yet all his roots dated back to Eire
Than which land none is fairer.

As a boy he grew up in Govan
Where the once proud Rangers' writ did run
However,because of their sectarian divide
He could not be signed by his  local side.

He plied his trade skilfully and well
As every team he played for can proudly tell
He showed goalscoring was his great art
 And his teamwork played a major part

When he finally joined them  in the East End
He was destined to become a true legend
His goals set him in a world apart
And he played for Celtic with all his heart.

Although he played not in the European final
His contribution till Christmas that season was vital
With goals galore and impressive teamwork
He was a model player who would never shirk.

And so the crowning glory of his team
Without his contribution would not have been
As a man who never lost the common touch
He remains in our memories  loved so much.
Form: Rhyme

My World

I live in a world where there is no flow and ebb 
where flies are snared in the spiders web

Where anger is the clothing that spirits wear 
hand me down garments soiled with fear 

Where eyes fail from weeping incapable of emotions 
and the heart bears the tsunami the bodies waves like the ocean's 
  
In the winepress of the psyche I trample the virgin daughter of bliss 
and beyond the landscape of sin and firmament of folly lies the serpents hiss 

I live in a world where wisdom and knowledge collide similar to protons 
Where innocence is slaughtered like Salem's pillars and scions 

As the lion makes a kill its the jackel that profits 
but before the jackel appears its the hyena that mocks it 

And as the prey that is stalked is slain without pity 
The herds of people represent stock roaming the cities 

Women eat their offspring and they dont even know it 
While the scheme of men cast shadows over truth not to show it 

In my world my eyes flow unceasingly without mercy without ease 
as vengeance owns depth, so deep it stalks the forrest beyond trees 

In my world the mind constantly mocks the heart 
While guilt is the warden whom imprisons the soul in the dark

Like the rain that suffocates the land with a constant pour 
My inner child cries louder than thunder or a lion with a constant roar 

In my world an infants tongue adheres to roof of its mouth 
and food is as scarce to child as insects are to a grouse 

Nurtured in purple but racked with hunger 
It is better to die by the sword then to live with famine in numbers 

Joy has dispersed from our hearts and dancing has moved to mourn 
as brightness has merged with the dark the fabric of happiness is torn
Form: Rhyme

La Gala Grandeur

~La Gala Grandeur~


Revived from mine mortality,I adopt my rebirth
Through neonate eyes,the world now glows ethereal
As my resplendence arouses,death is relinquished dormant
Though newly formed,I step unteeteringly unafraid


Motlique auras,encompass my fellow scions
The firmament above,an wombous spectrum pletharic
Engrossed of adolescence,I become exhilarantly aware
My lineant precursors,swarm samely for my embracing


Free from fragility,I am no longer appraisal's prey
No less nor more than another,we abide incorruptable
Orchestras of saints and psalmists,exact an spectacled sonata
Devout and divinely,we dance dutifully for mercy's grace


This revel illimitable,is always available
Admittance thou art assured,whether or not of invitation
With none boundary of era,we know ye will attend
It is but a matter my friend,of just when...


...is then



~Azaza~ June 19th,2010
Form: Narrative


Premium Member Analogue Dialogue

Analogue Dialogue

When one experiences the Past looking forward
          And views the Future through a long-gone lens
                    Moments change over the ticking of timeless time

It’s not a race but steady steps pacing reflection

Tim ponders digital progress in restless confusion
          Watches through hands of an old-fashioned watch
                    Winds down his arrest winds it up every so often

Beautiful precision handed down from his grandfather

An ancient time piece and manual from another world
          He caresses memories novelty progress’ regressions
                    Regrets not that cherished instants have passed on

He hears listens and answers absorbs and condenses

The worn leather strap braces together held meaning
          As the face dials fortune foretells what cannot be lost
                    While the crown creaks rusty and unwilling to budge

Something breaks under his fingers shouts ‘Stop it'
          'You fool are trying to enforce your silly impatience
                    I am delicate and precious have my very own stride’

‘Conquer your own battles and leave me pristine for a while’

Confusing perspective with vigour Tim had overturned
          With one last twist in unwilling frustration such an
                    Imperturbable wisdom that force yields gentle compassion

His children smile not with remnants of Schadenfreude
          Had he not forgone their obvious spinning conclusion
                    That one must go with new wonders and scions of science

But Tim wields new resolve in repair of himself and his analogue ticker

30th July 2018

The Cry of An Unattended Addict

My scaled lips have a story, repelling
enough to well up tears in the telling.
My heart is rocked at its place of dwelling
Expect not a merry word from a face unsmiling

Toppling of troughs in the shrine brought anguish  
Suffocating under unhappiness and darkness   
Of disregarded rites, now gods are come to punish 
A mortal with sandy throat devoid of life freshness  
Cup of my diet since I joined the beings of earth 
Like a lamb, was pushed in to a manger of boiling barrel
and inhaled the yellow of all that was not life but death              
that early I embraced the cup of  bev that was sterile  
advocates say my kin suffered a deal, anytime I cut a drink  
abdicated duties, has my scions grafted abroad, pollen 
a field has sprouted at my feet, kingdom on the brink  
Smoking barrels here come to dry a sullen wet woolen 

The city throbs in my forehead but I hear it not 
My spine thinner than ever from the trembling
Of week long dearth of my cherished cup 
Lodging in the loo timing the next bowel move
twitching jawbone gives yet a crisp performance
Coming in tune with the abdominal rumble
I cough and serve nothing to the white bowl
Because all I ever had was a sterile drink 
Ten days gone.
Form: Rhyme

Simon Brown

Simon started playing wheelchair basketball, 
Aged twelve at a school community project, 
And under coach Ian Laker accepted the call, 
To play with London Titans so as to connect. 

In 2008 he debuted at the Beijing Paralympics, 
He and the GBR squad won the bronze medal, 
And in 2009 they won with World Cup phonetics, 
5th in the 2010 World Cup Championship pedal. 

In 2013 at the Frankfurt European Champs, 
Simon and his GBR team struck the top gold, 
And then in 2015 at more European Champs, 
Simon & co won yet another sparkling gold. 

In Rio de Janeiro at the Paralympic Games, 
The GBR basketball squad collected bronze, 
A triumph for such an elite contest, no games, 
Where the best is given by first class scions.
Form: Quatrain

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